


Children of the Sun (That's the Origin of Love)

by cylobaby27



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: College!AU, D/s overtones, M/M, hipster!Steve, pre-serum!Steve, punk!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bucky is watching Steve pour himself a bowl of gluten-free Chex when it hits him like a sledgehammer. Steve is scrawny and short with a half-buzzed head, hipster glasses, and an array of avant-garde tattoos, and Bucky is so in love with him that it hurts." </p><p>Bucky has a final exam tomorrow, has just realized he's in love with his best friend, and Natasha won't stop calling him an idiot. </p><p>He seriously needs a vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children of the Sun (That's the Origin of Love)

Bucky is watching Steve pour himself a bowl of gluten-free Chex when it hits him like a sledgehammer. 

Steve is scrawny and short with a half-buzzed head, hipster glasses, and an array of avant-garde tattoos, and Bucky is so in love with him that it hurts. 

"Pass the milk?"

Bucky hands it over, wondering how he'd never noticed that Steve has the prettiest blue eyes he's ever seen. 

"You okay?" Steve prompted, taking the milk and filling his bowl. "You look kinda...out of it."

"What? I'm fine," Bucky said, jerking his gaze away to stare at his cooling omelet. 

Steve's concerned gaze didn't waver. "You'll do fine on the exam tomorrow. You were practically born to do physics."

Bucky's chuckle and retort are a reflex. "Didn't know Crown Heights bred many math geniuses." 

A smirk tugs at Steve's lips. "I never said you were a genius. You might want to tone that ego down a bit. If your head gets much bigger, your mohawk won't fit through the front door," he said. His blue eyes danced with humor, and Bucky felt another sharp jolt of affection in his gut. 

Fuck. 

\----

Steve and Bucky have been "Steve and Bucky" for so long that they are practically considered a single entity by those who have known them long enough.

When Bucky's mom invites him home for a holiday dinner, she lets him know that she's putting together some gluten-free dishes for Steve without needing to ask if he's coming. 

They've been roommates for two years, taking the commute together from Park Slope to the West Village every day for class, but they've been friends for decades. 

Ever since Bucky saw young Steve standing up against a circle of bullies, with a split lip and glazed eyes and a defiant stance, he had made it his job to keep that idiot out of trouble.

For some reason, Steve let Bucky stick around.

Steve is the best part of Bucky's life. The Barnes family may still be out further in Brooklyn, but there have always been too many kids and not enough money or attention to go around there. With Steve, though, Bucky is always wanted, always needed. 

Now his dumbass emotions are about to try to take that all away from him. 

Fuck if he'll let that happen. 

\----

It takes Natasha the course of one meal to realize that something has changed.

“Hey, guys, I’ve got to head out now if I’m going to get to class,” Steve says, shouldering his backpack. “We’re going to get our assignments for the final project today.”

“I’ve got the check,” Bucky assures him. With the amount he and the others ate together, they have long since abandoned trying to split their checks every time. They cover the tab on a rotating schedule, trusting that it will eventually balance out. “Go razzle-dazzle 'em.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “Later, Nat. See you on Friday for my birthday celebration, right?”

"It's still a month away from your birthday," Natasha reminds him. They've had this conversation several times before. Bucky just shakes his head, knowing Steve's argument. 

"Well, if you and Sam weren't going across the country for internships all summer, we could do it on my actual birthday. But you'll be there?"

Natasha nodded. “Of course. Take it easy,” she says, giving him a lazy salute. 

Steve bounds off, leaving Bucky and Natasha staring at each other across the table. 

Natasha raises an eyebrow and smirks, drawing his eyes to her bright red lipstick. As much as Bucky teases Steve for his hipster appearance, Natasha pulls off her striped hoodie and geometric tattoos effortlessly. 

"What?" he snaps. 

She chuckled, tapping her fork in an idle rhythm on the table. "I had been wondering if you'd ever figure it out. I was starting to lose hope."

His first instinct is to play dumb, but that particular facade has never worked against Natasha, who can see through bullshit with the skill of a professional interrogator. Instead, he sighs. "What's wrong with me?"

Natasha's expression turns sharp. "Tell me you're not going through some sexuality crisis over this."

"What? No." Though his reputation is as a ladies' man, he doesn't discriminate. He likes who he likes, no matter what's between their legs. "But this is _Steve_. This is terrible."

Natasha watches him quietly for a long second, and then shakes her head. "You're going to need to talk me through your 'logic.' I clearly can't keep up with your particular brand of stupidity."

It shows how stressed Bucky is that he doesn't retort to the jab. "Steve's my best friend. If I fuck things up with him, who have I got left? No offense."

"None taken. Everyone knows that you two are connected at the hip," Natasha replies. 

"You're one to talk," Bucky mutters. Natasha's roommate, part-time lover, best friend, and general partner in crime, Clint Barton, is rarely found outside her presence. The waiter comes by to drop off their check, and Bucky digs into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet, giving him an excuse not to look at Natasha. 

Unfortunately, her old gang nickname doesn't come from nothing. She has the patience of a spider waiting for its prey. When Bucky finally slots the card into the leather folder, Natasha says, "You know he loves you too."

"Like a brother," Bucky replies. 

"God, you're dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “So when are you going to tell him?”

“I’m not,” Bucky says immediately. “What, are you crazy?”

“Are you? You can’t just not tell him. He’s your best friend. It’s not like he’s going to move out no matter how he feels— even though I know he likes you too.” 

"Look," Bucky says, getting angry. "We're talking about Steve Rogers here. He volunteers at homeless shelters and animal shelters. And then doesn't put that shit on any applications or resumes. Last week, I saw him help our neighbor carry up her groceries, even though he's barely stronger than she is. Not to mention his perfect eyes and artistic talent and just... Steve is too _good_."

The waitress drops off the check and Bucky's credit card back at their table, but Natasha doesn't even wait until she's gone to say, "Tell me you're not saying he's too good for you." 

Bucky doesn't answer, focusing instead on calculating the tip. 

"I would tell you that he's not as good as you think, and you're not as bad as you think, but you're not going to listen to me," Natasha says. "Just don't deprive yourself--and him-- of something good just because you're scared."

"Not scared," Bucky mutters, capping the pen and closing the billfold. 

Natasha pats his cheek hard enough to sting. "Why do I put up with you?"

Dragging up a bright grin, Bucky replies, "That thing I do with my tongue?"

"First of all, we're never sleeping together again. Second, you're not as good as you think you are," she says, smirking. 

"That's not what you said back then," Bucky teases. He and Natasha had an intense affair during their freshman year. She was a wildcat in bed, but they had quickly discovered that they were better off as friends who didn't sleep together. 

"If you're so confident, maybe you should try the tongue thing on Steve. Maybe he'll be too weak at the knees to run away," Natasha says as she shoulders her backpack and stood up. 

Bucky sticks his tongue out at her, but stands as well. He sighs, looking at Steve's abandoned seat. "This can't end well."

Natasha bops him over the head with the flat of her hand. "Honestly, people who think that you're the tough one of the two of you need their eyes checked. Your leather collar and spiked gloves may as well be baby blue for the amount of street cred they give you when you're pouting like this."

"I hate you," Bucky grumbles as they make their way to their shared politics class. 

"No, you don't," Natasha replies confidently. 

Bucky heaves another dramatic sigh, but doesn't contradict her. 

\----

"I need a live model," Steve says over dinner. 

On their budget, dinner is a pot of macaroni and cheese with some chopped hot dogs added in for protein. 

"Hm?"

“For my final charcoal project,” Steve says. “I need a live model to work with. We’re doing a study of one person to show how well we can capture them in the medium.”

“You’ll do fine,” Bucky says immediately. 

“Well, I’ll need a model first.” He is looking at Bucky expectantly, making him wonder if he missed part of the conversation.

“Right.”

“So, will you do it?”

Bucky freezes with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Steve has had a sketchbook practically glued to his side since they were kids, but after a few failed attempts to make Bucky sit still for a session, Steve had stopped asking. “You want me to pose for you?”

There is a bit of color on Steve’s cheeks, but his expression is determined. “Yes.”

“I…why?”

“C’mon, Buck, do you know how much hiring a model to pose for that many sessions would cost?” Steve says. “You’ve just got to sit still for a while. I know that’s not your strong point, but I’ll put on some Coldplay or something.”

“Ha ha,” Bucky replies drily. He fell asleep at a Coldplay concert Sam and Steve had dragged him to a year ago, and they haven’t dropped it since. “What about Natasha? Or Sam?”

“Neither of them in live in Brooklyn,” Steve says. “Besides, I want to draw you. Do you really not want to do it?”

The disappointed expression that flashes across Steve’s face is enough to make Bucky immediately say, “Of course I’ll do it.” He winks at Steve, regaining his internal balance. “I knew you wanted to get me naked.”

“Like I’ve never seen you in the nude,” Steve scoffs. “Come on, finish up your macaroni and then strip.”

“I, ah, okay.” 

It’s just for a drawing, Bucky tells himself firmly as he scrapes his bowl clean. It’s just for class. Steve isn’t ordering Bucky to strip for other purposes, no matter how much Bucky wants him to.   
       
Bucky tries to delay the inevitable by taking his bowl over to the sink, but Steve waves him away. “I’ll take care of these. You go get comfortable on the couch.”

Over the past seven years since Bucky lost his virginity to Clara O'Donnell in the eighth grade, he has been naked in front of dozens of people. Usually, it's a thrill. Bucky is in good shape, and he knows that his puppy dog eyes can win over favor with any crowd. 

He's even been naked around Steve. You don't grow up with someone and then live in an apartment together without seeing each other without clothes on. Hell, sometimes Bucky walks around in his towel after his showers. 

However, he's never been naked around Steve with intent. And the thought of having those bright blue eyes focusing solely on him is enough to make him concerned that his dick is going to put on an unwelcome show. 

"I don't hear clothes being taken off."

Bucky pulls his shirt off over his head, and then shucked his baggy pants off. Steve may mock him for his punk style, but at least Bucky doesn't have to spend hours squirming in and out of skinny jeans. He stops at his underwear, leaving the boxers on, and then unbuckled the leather cuffs from his wrists. When he reaches up to undo the collar, which he's worn as a fashion statement for so long that he's been left with an embarrassing tan-line, he's stopped by Steve entering the room. "Leave it on," he instructs. "It makes for a good contrast."

Bucky lets his hands slip away from the collar. "How do you want me?" he asks, gesturing to his neck. "Like one of your French girls?"

Steve chuckles. “Really? That joke? Original, Barnes. Just, however you're comfortable to start with," he replies. His usual sketchbook has been replaced by a standing easel, which he sets in front of the chair across the room. He has a collection of charcoal in a small tin, and is massaging a gray eraser in his hand. He sits down and looks past the easel at Bucky, who has perched on the edge of the couch. "Don't tell me you're comfortable like that," he says. "And lose the boxers."

Bucky slips them off as requested and scoots back on the couch, deliberately spreading his arms over the back in the most confident position he can muster. His legs cross without his permission. 

"Better," Steve says. "Now hold still."

Bucky had thought being directly under Steve's gaze would be uncomfortable. He was wrong. It is so much worse. 

Steve is looking at him with an artist's eye, cataloging the shape and slope of his entire body. Even the people he's slept with have looked at him so thoroughly. 

"Relax," Steve says gently, and Bucky realizes that he's been tapping his fingers in a fast rhythm on the back of the couch. 

Deliberately, he relaxes his stance. "How's it going?" he asks. 

Steve has a small smile on his lips. "I've got the outline done. Now keep quiet. Just relax."

Bucky opens his mouth again, but closes it without speaking. Steve is calm and confident. Bucky can trust him. 

The first few minutes are agonizingly slow, but once Bucky lets his tension loose, he finds his mind drifting calmly. Steve is there-- he can let his guard down. 

As he draws, Steve hums quietly. Bucky has heard strains of the song coming from Steve's room before, but it's another in a long list of alt music that Bucky's never listened to. Steve argues that his taste is simply different than modern mainstream music. Bucky calls him a hipster every chance he gets. 

"Tilt your chin up," Steve instructs after at least a half-hour of sketching. 

Bucky obeys, but keeps Steve's gaze. There is an intensity there that thrills Bucky even as he tells himself that he's just projecting. 

"Good," Steve says, holding his gaze for a long moment. Even when he went back to drawing, his attention stayed on Bucky. 

It isn't for another ten minutes that Steve breaks the spell, covering his face with his elbow as his thin frame is wracked with coughs. 

"Do you need water?" Bucky asks, leaning forward. 

Steve waved his concerns away. "I'm fine, Buck."

"Maybe you shouldn't be using charcoal," Bucky continued, looking at the black dust that covered Steve's fingers. 

Steve shrugs, putting the lid back on the tin of charcoal pencils. "It's not my favorite medium. Once this class is finished, I'll go back to pen and watercolors." When Bucky's concern doesn't abate, Steve adds, "Just this final project to get done. You can't back out now, or I'll have to spend more time with a whole new model."

Glaring, Bucky wonders when Steve became so good at getting Bucky to go along with his dumb ideas. "Yeah, yeah," he says, pulling his clothes back on quickly. They don't feel as much like armor as usual. Steve's already seen behind them. 

\----

Professor Foster, for all that she is a petite, friendly person, becomes even more frazzled than most of her students when it's exam time. Unfortunately, the main effect of her concern is a ratcheted level of tension in the exam hall. 

Bucky has always been good at math. When the rest of the world doesn't make sense, numbers always work how they should. Physics is a practical extension of that, and his basic understanding of simple numbers has allowed him to explore concepts he'd never dreamed of before. 

So, when the papers are passed out, Bucky ignores Dr. Foster's pacing at the front of the room, ignores the near-constant mantra of "Steve, money, work, Steve, grades, Nat, Steve" that thrums through his head, and gives the numbers all of his attention. 

It's surprisingly easy to clear his mind and follow the black-and-white instructions. Steve would probably make some comment about Bucky needing things laid out simple for him, but the truth is that sometimes, Bucky needs his mind quieted. Whether it's allowing the exam to sweep him away, or Steve making him sit still for the charcoal drawing, Bucky spends so much time worrying that his few moments of quiet are addictive. 

He'll never be a quiet person. His concerns for Steve's health and their finances and his own future will never go away, and he wouldn't know what to do if they did. He's a worrier-- that's how he solves the problems he can't scare away with a bat of his eyelashes or an intimidating stance. 

But when he turns in his test and walks back onto the quad, which is full of bright sunshine and raucous laughter, he almost wishes he could go back into the exam hall for a little while longer. 

_Hey, you're a crazy bitch, but you...._

Bucky slides his phone from his pocket and holds it up to his ear. "Nat," he greets with a grin. 

There's a pause on the other end. "Did you ever change that ringtone?"

"Nope," Bucky said, popping the last letter obnoxiously. 

"How'd the exam go?"

Bucky knows better than to trust the change in subject. He'll need to keep an eye on his phone the next time Natasha is nearby. After the time she switched her ringtone to 'Boss Ass Bitch' and then switched his entire phone into Mandarin, he has learned not to give her the opportunity. 

"Okay, I think," Bucky says. "I'll get the grade back next week."

"This was your last exam, right?"

"All I have left to do is a final edit on my Lit essay, turn it in, and then I'm done," he confirms, walking toward the nearest subway. 

Natasha snorts. "That means you're done. Come over to my place. I'm making Jell-O shots for Steve's get-together tomorrow and need a taste-tester. Clint's babysitting Kate tonight."

"I think Kate would say it's the other way around." Bucky hesitates. "Sorry, but I think Steve needs me around tonight to help with his final project."

"No, he's at the movies with Sam, seeing that new Lego movie," Natasha says.

Coming to a halt at the edge of the quad, Bucky says, "Wait, they're there now?"

"Sam wanted to do something early for Steve's birthday celebration, since you were in an exam."

"But I'm out of the exam," Bucky points out. 

"Yeah. An hour and a half early. Even I didn't think you were going to pick up. Now come on over."

Bucky sighs, changing course. "I'll be over in a minute."

\----

Jell-O shots are the best. 

Natasha is the best.  

"You're the best," he murmurs into Natasha's neck. 

They are sprawled on her couch watching Say Yes to the Dress. Apparently Natasha watches it every week. 

"I know," she says, running a hand lazily through his hair. 

"Seriously. Best."

There are about a dozen Jell-O shots in the fridge ready for Steve's party tomorrow. They made two dozen. 

"Hush. I think this woman's about to slap her maid of honor."

Bucky looks up at her with bleary eyes. "How are you so sober?"

"I'm Russian. I've got vodka in my veins," she reminds him. 

Groaning, Bucky lets his head drop back down. “Why d’eve w’me?” he mutters into her jeans. 

“Were those words?”

Moving his head so his mouth isn’t smashed into her thigh, he repeats, “Why did Steve go to the movies without me? He’s only known Sam since freshman year. He’s nobody.”

“You’ve only known me since freshman year,” Natasha points out. 

“Yeah, but you’re not replacing Steve. You’re just… extra.”

Natasha sighs heavily. “You think Sam is replacing you.”

“You know it hurts my feelings when you take that tone,” Bucky says. 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the biggest idiot you’ve ever met.” It comes out more genuinely upset than teasing. Damn alcohol. 

“You are an idiot.” When Bucky turns his face to hide it against her leg again, she puts her hand in his hair and gives it a slow tug. “You’re brilliant and great, but, yeah, an idiot. Steve can have more than one friend.”

“Not more than one best friend.”

He could feel her shrug under him. “Debatable.”

“Best means best. There can only be one.”

“If it makes you feel better, Sam and Steve are definitely just platonic. Even though Sam has said that he would tap that in a second.”

Bucky sits up so quickly that his head spins, and Natasha starts cackling. “Damn you,” he grumbles, slapping at her arm weakly. 

“Not that Steve’s not cute,” Natasha says, “but we all know he’s only got eyes for one person. And that person once took on ten football players for him.”

“Hey, I did that once,” Bucky says, leaning back into her lap. 

“Definitely an idiot,” Natasha replies, but Bucky is already drifting off to sleep. 

——

“Where were you last night?” Steve asks when Bucky comes in the front door. Steve is dressed in a plain white shirt and athletic shorts, and has clearly just come back from a jog. With his lungs, doctors have recommended against him exercising out in the New York smog, but Steve refuses to waste money on a gym when he’s got sidewalks all around him. His hair flops over in his eyes, sweat-soaked, and his cheeks have a healthy flush. 

He looks entirely too appealing this soon after Bucky’s woken up. 

“Nat’s,” Bucky replies, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Luckily, he’s managed to avoid a hangover, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not tired after doing a full night of vodka shots after his last final exam.

Steve’s expression closes down. “I thought you two stopped… you know, years ago.”

“What? No,” Bucky says, and Steve clenches his jaw. “No, we’re not like that. Never again.”

“Oh,” Steve says, posture relaxing. “Then what were you doing?”

“Jell-O shots.”

“You went out and got wasted the night _before_ my birthday party?”

“In my defense, the shots are, in fact, for your party. The ones that are left, at least,” Bucky says. “Besides, I finished my physics exam.”

“And?” Steve inquires, gesturing for Bucky to sit at the kitchen counter while he goes back to scrambling eggs. 

“I don’t know.”

“You aced it,” Steve says confidently. 

Bucky looks at him across the counter, catching those bright blue eyes watching him warmly. Even when Bucky can’t stand his own reflection, Steve’s loyalty has never wavered. 

“We’ll see,” Bucky demurs. “Happy fake birthday, by the way. What are the plans for tonight?”

Steve shrugs. "I thought we could just hang around the apartment. It doesn't need to be a big deal."

"It's your 21st," Bucky points out. "It does actually need to be a big deal."

"Like I've never had alcohol before. Besides, it's not even my birthday for another month. I'll still have to use my fake."

"Not the point," Bucky says. "Also, never let my mom hear you say that. She thinks you're a saint, I swear."

Steve scrapes his scrambled eggs onto a plate. "It's just going to be you, me, Nat, and Sam anyway. It's not like we're throwing a rager." 

Bucky shudders exaggeratedly. "Thank God. That would probably involve listening to your music."

"Hilarious. Sorry I have good taste," Steve says, taking the seat at the counter beside Bucky. 

“So, did you have a good time with Sam last night?” Bucky asks, keeping his posture casual.

Steve shrugs as he takes his first bite. “It was good. I know you hate movies, but it was fun.”

“I don’t hate movies,” Bucky replies.

Raising his eyebrows, Steve says, “When’s the last time you made it through a whole movie without either falling asleep or leaving partway through?”

Hesitating, Bucky thinks back. Sitting in one place for too long, especially in a crowded movie theater where he’s obligated to be quiet and still, drives him nuts, but he goes when Steve asks. He just takes a few breaks throughout to walk around and buy more snacks. Unlike taking an exam, it's hard for Bucky to focus enough on the movie to let himself slip into relaxation. “Whatever. Maybe you should just move in with Sam so you can watch movies all the time.”

Steve laughs. “Can you imagine? We’d kill each other within a month.”

“You guys get along really well, though,” Bucky points out. 

“He’s great,” Steve agrees. “He also likes to invite friends and classmates and complete strangers over to his place all the time. I love that guy, but I like being able to come home and be alone at the end of the day. Besides, if I lived with Sam, we’d have to find a three-bedroom, unless you wanted to share a room again.”

“No way,” Bucky says, unable to hold back a pleased grin. “You snore.”

“Do not.”

“It must be the asthma,” Bucky continues knowingly. “It’s torture.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

\----

Despite Steve's insistence that the night stay low-key, the combined force of Sam, Natasha, and Bucky manage to drag the birthday boy out to a local bar after they spend an hour opening presents and polishing off the rest of the Jell-O shots. Like many bars in Brooklyn, The Flamingo is decorated with exposed pipes, bare bulbs, and an eclectic assortment of indie movie posters. At Sam's request, the waiter places four mason jars of Long Island Iced Tea on the table, along with a plate of buffalo wings. 

"This is great," Steve says, looking around. 

"It's so hipster," Bucky sighs as he grabs a handful of buffalo wings. 

"Cheers to the birthday boy!" Sam says, holding up his drink. 

As a responsible best friend--and since he's still drained from the previous night of drinking--Bucky is the designated sober friend, so he raises his own Coke to click glasses. "Happy Birthday, buddy," he says to Steve, who is already flushed and grinning from the Jell-O shots in the apartment. 

Since Steve is a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, he's a textbook lightweight. By the time they finish the first round, Steve is bright-eyed and laughing at every comment. He looks so damn pleased to be surrounded by his friends that Bucky is overcome with a rush of affection. 

Crushes are awful, no doubt about it. But independent of Bucky’s own feelings, Steve is just… amazing. He doesn’t even realize that they’re the ones who should be grateful for his friendship, not the other way around. 

“C’mon, Steve, one more shot!” Sam encourages, sliding a brightly-colored shot across the table. With his letterman’s jacket and sensible haircut, Sam should look out of place at their table, but, like always, he manages to fit in effortlessly. Sam has the kind of easy popularity that laid-back, attractive people tend to attract, but no matter how much he flits among social circles, his loyalty is to Steve. 

Though Bucky may still hate him a little bit, he’s glad Steve has friends who look out for him.

Steve pauses with the shot halfway to his mouth, smile dropping from his face and eyes locked on the bar. 

"Fuck," Bucky mutters. He knows that look. 

"Excuse me," Steve says, setting down the glass and standing up without taking his eyes off whoever has caught his attention. 

Bucky follows his gaze to a woman and a man at the bar. The man, a bulky thug that was a few inches than Bucky's own six feet, was leaning sideways on the counter, talking to a visibly tense younger woman. 

Sighing, Bucky turns to Sam and Natasha. "You guys keep drinking. I've got this."

By the time he gets close enough to hear the conversation, Steve has already shoved his way between the man and woman. "She said she's not interested," Steve declared, jaw clenched. 

"Get the fuck out of here," the man replies. "I just want her number."

Steve glances over his shoulder at the girl. "Do you want to give him your number?"

The woman, who can't be out of college, shakes her head. She's slightly pale, and she's clutching her bag tightly, but she says firmly, "No, I don't. I told him that I would call the cops if he doesn't back off."

"Looks like she's got this handled," Bucky says. The aggressor has at least a hundred pounds on Steve, and looks like he knows how to use them, even if his eyes are slightly glazed with drink. 

"She shouldn't have to deal with this creep alone," Steve replies. "Someone needs to tell these guys that they have no right to harass anyone."

"And you're that someone?" the man challenges. 

"Apparently so. Now, are you going to walk away, or are we going to have a problem here?"

The man glares. "You should mind your own business."

"You should stop being such an asshole. Does your mother know you act like this?"

The punch that comes after that is so obviously telegraphed that Steve manages to dodge it, but the follow-up kick sends the smaller man stumbling sideways into a table beside the bar. He hits the ground hard. 

Incensed, the man steps toward Steve, but Bucky is immediately standing in his way. "You shouldn't have done that."

Bucky only has the chance to hit the guy once (and take a hit to the jaw in return), before Steve appears to tackle the man. They slam into the bar, knocking a glass off the surface that crashes loudly behind the counter.

"Hey, break it up!" the bartender demands, though he stays well away from the fight. 

The woman who had been harassed has gathered her bearings, and the moment Steve is clear from her range, she slams her bag into the man's face. It connects with a solid thunk, and the man slumps back against the bar. 

"What was in there?" Steve asks the woman. Bucky approaches and checks Steve quickly over for injuries, but other than a scrape on his forehead, he looks fine. 

"The fifth Harry Potter book," she says, grinning even though her hands are shaking. "Thanks."

"Next time, lead with that," Bucky says, eyeing the purse with respect. 

"The cops are on their way," the bartender tells them. "Get out of my bar."

Steve insists on seeing the woman outside to her cab, even though the asshole is still laid out on the bar floor. Waving reassuringly to Nat and Sam, Bucky follows them out, and then starts ushering Steve back to their apartment. 

"We should go to another bar," Steve protests as they walk. His gait is slightly unsteady, both from the fight and the alcohol. "There could be another guy disrespecting people!"

"Another guy to beat you up, you mean," Bucky drawls. 

"It doesn't matter whether I win," Steve says, even more earnest than usual. "It's about standing up to injustice!" He stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, and Bucky loops an arm around his shoulders to steady him. 

"It's about getting yourself killed," Bucky snaps. "That guy was bigger and meaner than you. Your big morals won't matter when you get knocked into a coma. Or worse." 

"I'm not going to stop," Steve says stubbornly. 

"Of course you're not," Bucky growls. "You're a reckless idiot, and always have been."

"Don't worry about me."

"Thanks for the advice," Bucky says wryly. "It's just coming about two decades too late. Like it or not, I'm with you now."

"Til the end of the line?" Steve confirms, looking up at him with a lazy grin.  

"Til the end of the line," Bucky agrees. 

They pass under a streetlight, and the shadows it creates over the sharp angles of his thin face cause Steve to look almost otherworldly. He's gorgeous. 

"I hope your birthday was okay anyways," Bucky says. "Maybe we shouldn't have dragged you to the bar."

"I had fun, and I'm glad I was there. If you're so worried about me, though," Steve says in a studied casual tone, "there's something you can do for me."

"I already gave you your present," Bucky reminds him. 

"This is a different kind of present," Steve says. He falls quiet for so long that Bucky wonders if the alcohol has made him lose his train of thought. That's why his jaw drops when Steve says, "A kiss."

"What?"

Steve looks up at him, and Bucky becomes painfully aware of the arm he has around Steve's shoulders. 

"It's my birthday," Steve points out. "So I'm asking for what I want, for once."

"And you want..."

"A kiss. From you. On the mouth," Steve says, voice growing more confident as he continues to speak. "For my birthday."

"I..." Bucky feels like he was the one who has been drinking all night. His mind is whirling, and he knows his face must look thunderstruck. "You don't want to kiss me."

"Yes, I do."

Bucky shakes his head. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're asking."

"I know exactly what I'm asking."

Unable to look Steve in the eyes, Bucky is grateful when they arrive at their apartment building and he has to dig their keys out of his pocket. "You'd regret it in the morning," Bucky tells him quietly. 

"Buck..." Steve says, looking lost as he stands on the front step. 

"Come on," Bucky says firmly. "Let's get some water in you before you go to sleep."

Steve watches him for another long moment, though Bucky still can't manage to meet his gaze. Finally, he acquiesces. 

\----

The next morning, Bucky is determined to keep things as normal as possible. Steve has never been as drunk as he was the night before. He might not even remember his request. If he does, he's probably mortified. 

Bucky's not going to give him any reason to shy away now. It's not Steve's fault that he hit a nerve in Bucky. 

He's making breakfast when Steve finally emerges from his room. "Morning, sunshine. You look like hell," he greets. 

Steve's unstyled hair is hanging over his bloodshot eyes, and the scrape on his head has blossomed into a gray bruise, but he smiles when he sniffs the air. "French toast?"

"If your stomach can handle it," Bucky said. "I wasn't here in time to make your birthday breakfast yesterday, so you're getting it a day late. Also, I was craving French toast."

"Did you use the brioche I got from the market?"

Bucky nods. 

"And free-range eggs?"

"I got it covered," Bucky says. "If you don't trust me to do it, then you can make your own."

"No, I trust you," Steve replies easily, taking a seat at the counter. He's wearing a cotton tank that shows off the range of tattoos on his arms. In addition of a few simplistic geometric tattoos he got a month earlier, he also has a red, white, and blue circle on his upper arm with a star made of negative space in the middle. On his other shoulder is the first tattoo he got: a script tattoo that reads 'Til the end of the line' in Bucky's handwriting. 

"I had forgotten about that one," Bucky says, nodding toward Steve's shoulder. 

"It's my favorite," Steve replies. 

"It's not as interesting as the other ones," Bucky pointed out. In comparison to the bold lines and strong designs of the rest of Steve's tattoo, the thin line of text gets easily lost. 

"Depends on who you ask," Steve says. "Besides, it's important to me." He hesitates, watching Bucky flip a piece of toast. "You know I mean it, right? I'm here for you, no matter what."

"I mean it too," Bucky tells him quietly. He plates the first two pieces of French toast and slides it across the counter to Steve, followed by a bottle of syrup and a Tupperware container of powdered sugar. 

Steve nods, and then takes a deep breath. "I wouldn't have regretted it."

“Wouldn’t have regretted what?” Bucky asks with studied nonchalance, putting another egg-dipped slab of bread onto the griddle. 

“If… if you had kissed me.”

“Steve…” 

“Look, I’m not trying to push you into anything. This doesn’t have to change our friendship at all, and I hope it doesn’t make you panic. I just thought you should know that someone loves you.” Steve’s voice grows more confident as he speaks, and his gaze never falters. 

Bucky feels like he’s been punched in the stomach (and since he was literally punched in the stomach during last night’s bar fight, he’s speaking from experience). “You…”

“I love you,” Steve says simply, though there’s color in his cheeks. "I have for a while.”

Deciding he’s unable to have this conversation while multi-tasking, Bucky puts the griddle on a different eye and then looked up at Steve, who is at his eye-level from his seat at the counter. After staring blankly at Steve for a minute, searching his face for anything but earnestness and determination, Bucky chuckles. Steve’s face falls for a second before Bucky says, “You always were the brave one.”

“You mean you…?”

“I… I’m not good with this kind of thing. I don’t want to lose you. I want you any way you’ll have me.”

“That’s not exactly a yes.”

“You never exactly asked me a question,” Bucky points out cautiously. 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “For someone with such a big mouth, you really aren’t great with saying how you feel. Luckily, there are other ways to figure this out.”

Steve slides out of his chair and comes into the kitchen. He’s barefoot, which leaves him barely reaching Bucky’s chin, but somehow Bucky feels like the vulnerable one here. “You’ll say no if I do something you don’t want,” Steve instructs. 

Bucky nods as Steve shepherds him backward without even touching him. He simply walks with purpose toward Bucky, who has no choice but to move in tandem. Finally, Bucky’s back hits their stainless steel fridge, and the contrast of his warm skin and the cool surface makes him gasp. Steve’s hands come up to rest on the fridge on either side of Bucky. It would take Bucky less than a second to break out of the cage of Steve’s arms. 

He doesn’t move. 

Steve stares at him for a long moment, seeming to catalogue every expression and feature on Bucky’s face, and then he rises up to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. 

Compared to Bucky, Steve is completely inexperienced when it comes to physical affection. Bucky was present the last time Steve was kissed— it was a brief peck from a drunk girl at an art gala. On their way home, they had spoken, briefly, about Steve’s worry that he wouldn’t know what to do when the time came. 

Here, now, he is both calm and focused. He doesn’t have a _technique_ to his kissing like Bucky does. Steve is simply memorizing the shape and taste of Bucky’s mouth, nipping at the plump bottom lip and smiling when Bucky gasps. Bucky’s hands come up automatically to grab Steve’s hips and keep him close.  

Bucky has kissed people while grinding at parties. While playing Spin the Bottle in school closets. During the middle of sex. Still, he’s never felt this sensitized before. His whole body is practically thrumming, waiting for Steve’s next move. It occurs to him briefly that he could take control here, could show Steve how to kiss deep and filthy, but the thought leaves his mind without real consideration. Steve’s the man with the plan, and—honestly?—Bucky loves the attention. No one’s ever been this focused on him before, and he finds it intoxicating. The fact that it’s  _Steve_ , that they’re finally kissing, just makes it that much more overwhelming. 

Still, it doesn’t take long for Steve to lick his way into Bucky’s mouth and continue his exploration. Bucky doesn’t know how long they stand there in the kitchen before Steve finally steps back, but it feels simultaneously like an eternity and not long enough. 

He assesses Bucky’s face again, and apparently is pleased with what he finds. “Bedroom?”

Finally, Bucky is snapped out of his daze. “Steve, you don’t have anything to prove to me,” he says. “We don’t have to rush this.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Let me make my own decisions. I want this. Do you?”

“But—“

“Do you want this? Don’t let me push  _you_ into anything.”

“I want you,” Bucky tells him, tugging Steve's hips forward so that they’re touching.

Steve reaches up and hooks a finger through Bucky’s collar and drags him down for another kiss. A spark of pleasure shoots through Bucky, leaving him moaning against Steve’s mouth.

“Bedroom,” Steve says again, his pupils blown wide with lust.   

Unwilling to waste more time, Bucky grabs Steve's thighs and hoists him up. Though Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's waist, he glares at him. "Stop treating me like a child," he snapped. 

"Trust me," Bucky said, grinding up against him as he walked them toward his bedroom. "I know you're not a child."

"Jerk," Steve says, but he was pressing back against Bucky, circling his hips and driving Bucky crazy. 

Bucky sets Steve on top of his bed and then immediately crawls over him. The afternoon sunlight is streaming into the room, making everything seem somehow more intimate. Steve looks gorgeous spread out over the dark gray comforter, with his hair disheveled and his lips slick and red. He's breathing through his mouth, nearly panting, as he looks up at Bucky. Unable to resist, Bucky leans down and presses a line of kisses down Steve's neck and then settles at his sharp collarbones. When he's satisfied with the hickey he's left at the bad of Steve's pale neck, he pulls Steve's tank top off over his head, and then takes off his own to match. The tattoos that Bucky has seen on Steve's arms for years extend down his chest. The stark black lines are vivid in contrast to his pale skin.

The slight break in kissing has knocked the dazed expression from Steve's face, and his hand wraps itself in Bucky's hair as he moves his attention down an inked line to Steve's nipples. 

Bucky barely has enough time to explore satisfactorily before Steve tugs firmly on his hair. 

When Bucky looks up, Steve says, "Roll us over. It's my turn."

Using his knee and body weight, Bucky flips them so that Steve is on top. Steve leans down to kiss him, and the new angle gives him more control than before. When Steve moves to nip at Bucky's neck, just over his collar, Bucky runs his hands up and down Steve's sides, unable to stop touching him. He can feel Steve's ribs, which would be concerning if Bucky hadn't been overseeing his caloric intake. Steve is healthier now that he's been in years, no matter how skinny he looks, and damn if Bucky doesn't find the delicate body and indomitable spirit a perfect match.

He grumbles a protest when Steve leans back. Firmly, he leads Bucky's hands up and over his head, encouraging him to grasp the bars of his headboard. "Stay there," Steve tells him quietly.   
   
When Steve was drawing Bucky for his class, Bucky had felt exposed, but that was nothing compared to this. Steve isn't just looking at his body. He's _seeing_ Bucky, inside and out. 

"You're awfully bossy for a virgin," Bucky says, grasping for some control over the situation, though he didn't move his hands. 

Steve just raises his eyebrows. "I've never done this before, but I know you. Besides, would you rather me have practiced on someone else first?"

Bucky growls in response, and Steve laughs. "That's what I thought." Face stilling, he adds, "I know I hate that other people have seen you like this." There's a possessiveness in his eyes that would rankle Bucky if it were anyone but Steve. But the fact is, he is Steve's. Always has been. "That they've seen you like this, and always let you go in the end."

"Not like this," Bucky tells him. "Not like...this." He tilts his head further back, exposing more of his neck, to make his point. 

"Good," Steve says. Instead of taking advantage of the offered skin, he unbuckles the leather collar from Bucky's neck and places it on the bedside table. He presses a kiss to the sensitive skin, and then moves down and unbuttons Bucky’s pants. 

Bucky readjusts his hold on the headboard, tightening his grip. He’s going to need it.

——

“Wow.”

Steve’s responding hum is smug. 

It's barely two in the afternoon, but Bucky is content to lounge in bed. He's still feeling satisfied deep in his bones, and Steve has been keeping him in place by carding his fingers soothingly through Bucky's hair. It feels too good to even think about getting up. 

"Humble." Rolling over, Bucky placed a hand over Steve’s thin chest, feeling it rise and fall quickly. “You okay?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I can still breathe.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. He’s learned not to argue. Steve will get his inhaler if he really needs it, and not a second earlier. “But seriously, Steve, where did you learn to do that? I thought you hadn’t done that before.” He can’t help the bit of jealousy that rises up in him. 

Has Steve ever looked at someone like that before? Taken them apart inch by inch? He can’t decide if he’s more upset at the idea of Steve sleeping with someone, or the idea of Steve sleeping with someone and then _not telling him._

“I haven’t,” Steve reassured him, but a blush was spreading over his cheeks. “I just, you know, did my research.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Steve, did you  _Google_ how to suck someone’s brains out their dick?”

"I also asked some of the guys at school," Steve says, trying and failing to look affronted. "I didn't see you complaining about the results."

Bucky blinks. "How long have you been planning this?"

"A long time," Steve admits. "I wasn't sure it was something you were interested in, until..."

"The drawing," Bucky realizes, "it was a test."

Steve nods. "Well, not a test. A trial run. Next time we do this, we should leave that collar on."

"If we do that, I won't be able to wear it out in public again without getting an inappropriate hard-on," Bucky drawls. 

"Good."

Hesitating for a second, Bucky repeats. "Next time?"

Steve nods, acting like it was a foregone conclusion. "For as long as you'll have me. You know I'm in this 'til the end of the line."

"'Til the end of the line," Bucky agrees, leaning up to kiss him. 

\----

The next time they see Sam and Natasha, Bucky doesn't even get a chance to apologize for leaving them behind at the bar. They look over Steve and Bucky-- who aren't even holding hands--, exchange smug grins, and then fist-bump. 

"Took them long enough," Sam says. 

Natasha raises her eyebrows at them. "So who made the first move."

Steve raises his hand. He's blushing slightly, but there's a smirk on his face that makes Bucky want to drop to his knees. 

"Damn it, Barnes," Natasha said, punching his shoulder. "I had a hundred bucks on you."

"Never bet against Steve Rogers," Sam says with a cackle. 

"It's true," Steve said, looking up at Bucky. "I think I won the jackpot here."

"You're a dork," Bucky says, even as he leans forward to kiss Steve. 

Bucky's the one who won the jackpot. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Reviews and kudos are much appreciated.


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